


At the End of This Road

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Threesome in the Reach [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Horseback Riding, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t intended this. Jon had merely wanted to get Sansa away, to have her to himself while she’s still his. Before she becomes another man’s wife. A leisurely ride through the countryside sharing his horse had seemed ideal.</p><p>It is. Just not how he’d expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of This Road

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece of sorts to our OTHER arranged marriage threesome, **[The Threesome in the North](http://archiveofourown.org/series/25525)**. Works in the series are not in chronological order.

He hadn’t intended this. Jon had merely wanted to get Sansa away, to have her to himself while she’s still his. Before she becomes another man’s wife. A leisurely ride through the countryside sharing his horse had seemed ideal.

It is. Just not how he’d expected.

She’s spread wantonly – gloriously – over the saddle, not with her legs to one side in the custom of a lady but astride. Astride the horse, astride Jon’s legs. Astride his hand where it delves beneath the frustrating volume of her skirts.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs in her ear, slicking his fingers over her, into her heat, feeling her squeeze tight and quivering around him. His glove is long gone, tossed into some meadow or copse somewhere along the way. A breathless laugh vibrates in her chest, and he feels it where she’s pressed back against him. One of her hands tugs roughly through his hair. The other digs so hard into his thigh that he can feel the bite of her fingernails through the close weave of his breeches.

“I bet it feels better for me,” she says.

Jon smiles. He nips her earlobe then laves it with his tongue. “I don’t see how it could.”

Suddenly he remembers he has two hands, and that both should be on Sansa. Nimbly, he fixes the reins around the pommel with one hand and then busies himself undoing the tiny buttons at her bodice, wanting to feel the soft weight of her tits, the hard drag of her nipples, the vital rhythm of her heartbeat. He can't see what he's doing and he’s stymied by his remaining glove – and by the fact that her gown seems to have a thousand buttons – so he bites it off by two fingertips, flinging it aside to join its partner in the countryside around them. The buttons slide easier now, and they both groan in satisfaction when his hand slides into her bodice to cup her breast with possessive tenderness.

She’s writhing against him now, moving her hips into his hand almost like she’s fucking him, and it’s more than Jon can stand. He cannot help his growl as he sets his mouth to her throat and sucks, wanting to mark her as his, wanting to claim her. He wants to be everywhere at once, touching her, tasting her, fucking her. Gods, fucking her like this, her body moving over his with the rhythm of the horse, sweet and easy at a walk and then hard and primal when he kicks the horse into a gallop; that’s an image that will stay with him forever.

“If I didn’t think my horse would buck us both,” he rasps, “I would turn you around and fuck you just like this, so that you would never go riding with that Tyrell husband of yours without remembering it.”

“Jon.” Abruptly, her back arches, her shoulders pushing back hard against him as her cunt grinds into his hand. Her peak is sudden and sharp. And his. Only his. Ruthlessly, he drives her towards another, and then another, until she’s splayed helplessly against him, limp and sated, her hands dangling at her sides and swaying with the rhythm of the horse.

“We should take rides more often,” she manages weakly. Then she stiffens a bit, and Jon knows she’s just remembered. After tomorrow, she’ll no longer be his. Rides will be only rides. They will be only cousins once more. Sansa’s days will be Willas’s.

“I will ride wherever you wish me to go, my lady,” he says, softly. Solemnly. And he will. No matter that it pains him, no matter what he wishes could be. He will always be hers, no matter what else between them may change.


End file.
